


We'll Always Have Paris

by MissMaxime



Series: What love has bound together, time cannot unbind [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Crime and romance, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fake Dating, Fake Marriage, Fluff and Angst, French Kissing, Idiots in Love, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, flashback to emphasize idiocy, like what do you expect, looks its these idiots anything can happen, lots of feelings being denied, naked without having sex??, some groping in part one, there's only one bed, threat of violence riling them up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMaxime/pseuds/MissMaxime
Summary: “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Rio replies, grossly satisfied smirk plastered on his stupid face.Beth honestly can’t recall the last time she properly celebrated a valentine’s day. It’s been probably seven years ago? Maybe eight. And, if she’s truly honest, calling it ‘celebrating’ might be overdoing it. While it was a fond memory – Dean and she went out for dinner at a new Hawaiian themed restaurant in town, saw the final Fast and Furious movie in theatre (that part of the memory is very clear, Dean was very emotional – blubbering into her blouse, really). But it was. Nice.“Exciting, huh?” he continues.“Should have left sooner, now we’re lucky if we have the night,” she replies, matching the smug look on his face.“All I need, mama.”-----------Beth and Rio end up do taking that invitation to go to Paris and check out the crime-opportunities.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: What love has bound together, time cannot unbind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161725
Comments: 58
Kudos: 106





	1. L'Amour Toujours

**Author's Note:**

> Technically a follow-up of I'm In The Dark, I'd Like To Read His Mind - but I think you can read it without knowing that one. Most important is that it's six years in the future, and Beth and Rio both run their separate crime-enterprises in Detroit. A mutual associate presents them with new opportunities to expand their business across borders, which sounds pretty attractive money-wise, but it will also force Beth and Rio to work closely again. And we all know how well these disasters manage that. 
> 
> Thanks to [BourbonOnTheRocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonOnTheRocks/pseuds/BourbonOnTheRocks) who helped my out with some Paris and French related things!

“It’s nothing.”

“Like hell it’s nothing,” Ruby replies, as she’s refilling their Bordeaux for the third time that night. She’s not wrong, okay. Beth’s not that shortsighted, thank you very much. Knows how Ruby and Annie still see their sometimes-forced collaborations with Rio, because they still do sometimes cover similar grounds. It’s just something inevitable, Detroit’s not that large of a scene. And nine out of ten times there’s nothing between them aside from actual business. 

Beth takes the glass and swirls the deep red liquid in the glass before taking a large sip. “Nothing’s set in stone yet, we’re just going to see if it’s worth our trouble.”

“Oh, it’s _our_ trouble, already?” 

Beth sighs deeply – it’s not like she thought this conversation would go over easily. Life’s been good with them running their own corner of crime for the past years. Sure, they’ve been using the same paper guy, and have the same dude from the port on payroll. But that’s all outside contracting. They’re not in each other’s hair all the time (well, not _all_ the time – that voice in the back of her head whispers). 

“It’s not exactly something we can pull off by ourselves,” she says, falling into the cushions of Ruby’s couch. Not only that – it’s inevitable they’ll have to expand. New people, new storefronts, distribution. Rio’s already got some ideas about that, but she’s holding her own cards close to her chest until they met with Alexander. 

“I’m sure we can find some starving painters on the streets – how hard can it be?” Annie quips, leaning back in her chair. “Just dangle some stale bread in their faces and lure them into our new art factory.”

Beth side-eyes her. “You and your seven-month pregnancy are going to do that all day?”

“Annie Junior brings all the boys to the yard,” she beams back accomplished, rubbing her belly with the hand free of her lemonade-filled wineglass. “Or girls, I’m not picky.”

“Sure you’re still happy ‘bout that when a shiv-carrying junkie wants to cut up your face for your bread?” Ruby deadpans. 

“ _Shhhhh_ ,” Annie voices, hands covering her belly like she’s muffling her ears. “Little Loafie can hear you.”

Beth sits up. “It’s not the painters – John can provide us with that. It’s paper, brushes, carbon dating, passing infrared scans, dated paint. And that’s just the product.”

Ruby and Annie look at her questioning. 

“Rio’s been sending me articles all week,” she says, scrolling through her phone with disdain. As if she can’t use Google herself, arrogant prick. “Nothing we can’t get our hands on eventually. And maybe we should just start in the US. But if John really thinks this is such a big opportunity, I don’t see why we shouldn’t check it out.”

“Right. Besides, it’s only three days of your life.”

Beth remains awfully silent. Maybe takes a sip a little too big, feels a few sharp acid specks shoot down into her lungs. 

Not surprisingly Annie frowns her brows and laces her fingers together. “It is three days, right Beth? Hop on a plane, do your little meeting, and hop on back again. Isn’t that what you said? A quick _baguette and exette_?”

Two other squinting eyes across from her join Annie’s skepticism to the point Beth just ‘ughhs’. 

“First of all, that’s definitely not what I said.”

“I’m taking some creative freedom here.”

“ _Seven days_ ,” Beth breathes guiltily into her glass, drowning her sentence in hollow echoes. 

“Excuse-moi?” Ruby’s sharp wits crash down on her. 

“Seven days!” Beth belts. “I’ve never been to Paris; I want to see some things when I’m there.”

Annie and Ruby lock eyes in familiar expiration. 

It’s her sister that kindly clears her throat and very deliberately speaks: “And who will you be seeing the things with?”

“No one!”

It’s futile. 

“Rio,” she admits, slumping back into the couch, silently praying it will swallow her whole. 

Ruby leans forward. “I’d like to circle back to your earlier statement about this being nothing,” her calming voice carrying all kinds of repressed worries. “But you treating yourself to a little vacay with gangfriend?”

“It’s a business trip,” Beth corrects. 

“Fine, ‘business trip’,” Ruby continues, as Annie air quotes the final two words for emphasize. 

“Look I know we don’t always see eye to eye.”

“No, sometimes it’s groin to groin.”

“We’re way past that!” Beth lies. Unconvincingly, even to herself. Not that they know the specifics of that last time – that’s, well, that’s hers. Theirs. Besides, even before, when everything was less complicated – really neither of them really was exactly happy about her taking things to any other stage with Rio. Even less along the years – even if they never became something solid. Only ever keeping things fleeting and rushed – if anything happened at all. While trust was tangible on the business side, personally it always remained fickle and fragile. 

“When you’re on your ‘business trip’,” Ruby continues, reluctant. “You’re not just there for you. You’re there for all of us. I don’t want you to lose sight of that.”

Beth knows, okay. She knows they think Rio can do that to her, creating some sort of distraction – but honestly, he’s much worse than her. Meaning, she corrects herself, there’s really not an issue here. 

On her right is another yet unmasked cough. “Don’t bone gangfriend,” Annie smiles overexaggerated. “Or I’ll have to take your godmother card away for Tiny Dancer here,” she continues, pointing at her belly. “Can’t have that irresponsibility around my precious child.”

“For heaven’s sake, make Diane pick a name!” Beth complains, plunging some more wine into her glass to drown these reprimands away. “It’s been over half a year of euphemisms – I don’t think I can handle any more.”

“If you keep your hands in your own pants, maybe I will.”

Tiny Dancer doesn’t actually sound that bad, now that she thinks about it.

~*~*~

It’s early afternoon when the taxi drops her off at Detroit airport. Rio had insisted she only bring some cabin baggage, that he’d have them set up with what they’d need in Paris – and with all the things she had to arrange for the business, and the kids – having Dean take on a few extra days with them, having to overrule his sputtering about spending time with his girlfriend even though he owed her like three times for asking her to take extra time. It was a tiring enough week as it was.

Check in wasn’t going to get started until another hour, but she kind of liked the busy calm vibe of the airport. People rushing around her, never ending streams of people arriving and departing, a frenzy that left her with a soothing kind of invisibility. She could have easily left home later – but it’s nice and different browsing the overpriced shops by herself for a little while. Finally settling at the indoor terrace of the coffee shop she’s supposed to meet Rio later. 

Unfortunately, she should have guessed he would be there early too. 

Rio tosses a passport onto the table before sliding into the seat opposite of her, looking a little too smug. 

With a kind portion of hesitance, she reaches out and opens the document. “Bonnie Kowalski,” she reads. “Cute.”

“Mrs. Bonnie Kowalski,” he corrects, as he signals a waiter. 

If they could, her eyes would make a one-eighty in her sockets. “Clyde, I presume?” she asks once he places his order. 

“Lester.”

“Of all the names, Lester?”

He just hums in a way that makes her unsure if this is just completely ironic, or a flat out lie. 

“Give me your passport.”

“Nah,” he drawls, thanking the waiter as they bring his double espresso. 

“When’s Lester’s birthday?”

She can tell he doesn’t know, yet he barely flinches. 

“I’m sure your wife should know these things. What if we get picked out at customs?” she knows it’s weak. But it’s worth a shot. With the utmost reluctance he fishes his own passport from inside his hoodie and tosses it on the table. 

Smugly, she retrieves it. “January tenth,” she says, approvingly. “Thank you, Jonathan,” she smiles. She knew he’d rather die before calling himself Lester. In the range of cartoon characters, she’s not even sure number one is too much of a top spot for that combination of names. 

Rio looks back at her expectantly. 

“February 16th. Looks like we’ll be celebrating my birthday this week,” she says indifferently. 

It’s not until a few seconds later she realizes, that today is, wait what? 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he replies, grossly satisfied smirk plastered on his stupid face. 

Beth honestly can’t recall the last time she properly celebrated a valentine’s day. It’s been probably seven years ago? Maybe eight. And, if she’s truly honest, calling it ‘celebrating’ might be overdoing it. While it was a fond memory – Dean and she went out for dinner at a new Hawaiian themed restaurant in town, saw the final Fast and Furious movie in theatre (that part of the memory is very clear, Dean was very emotional – blubbering into her blouse, really). But it was. Nice. 

“Exciting, huh?” he continues. 

“Should have left sooner, now we’re lucky if we have the night,” she replies, matching the smug look on his face. 

“All I need, mama.”

All the check-in business goes swiftly. Like she suspected he fasttracked them through the whole process. Not that it really matters, it’s not at all a busy day at the airport, even less on their flight. She’d be surprised if there were more than five people boarding first class. And it’s not that she feels exactly out of place, but even with people around her in less than formal wear, she does feel kind of shabby in her dark yoga pants and oversized sweater. And somehow even if Rio’s wearing an all-black similar ensemble, she can’t help but note that even that feels styled. 

“Yes, bourbon,” she quickly asks the flight attended as he passes by. There’s a certain judgement in his frown, which she can easily ignore because Rio interferes with his amused glance. “On the rocks,” she adds. 

“Got some flying anxiety?” Rio asks, annoyingly innocent. 

“More about spending eight hours next to you,” she replies, as the attendant scrolls away the cart to the second class. 

And she knows, the second the words fall from her lips, it’s the wrong thing to say. “Didn’t seem to mind so much last time,” he drawls, not even looking at her. She can feel the flush creeping up her neck as the avalanche of memories crashes into her. Her body tingling as she recalls not just how his hands grabbed her in the elevator, the hotel room – god, the balcony – but how she woke up with his fingers resting on her belly, his chest flush against her back. How it was rudely intimate in a way she didn’t expect their tryst to turn. 

Not just that. It had been – it was – is maybe – fun. 

Like they both wordlessly decided that it could be uncomplicated and un-messy for just that night. And morning. Even brunch with John the day after – it was business – but trapped in that capsule, there was a sliver of hope that existing together was something in the realm of possibilities. 

Ridiculous, obviously. But--

“I didn’t.”

She’s not sure which emotion shines clearest in his eyes, but it’s a mosaic of many things. 

After that he takes a nap, and she starts watching My Best Friend’s Wedding for the millionth time – wishing that Julia Roberts’ problems were hers before she drifts into slumber as well. 

It’s dark outside when her eyes start to flutter open. It’s not the movie awakening her – the screen is dark, and she can imagine it was at curtesy of the attendant. Another sensation has drifted her from the depths of her thoughts, warm lips sucking on the skin of her neck. Fingers curling under the blanket around the inside of her thigh. Her breath hitches before she has any agency to control it through her drowsiness. 

She expects a snide remark, anything laced with an ‘I told you so’, but she supposes he decides to suck the skin on her neck a little harder, his fingers moving up her thigh to cup her through her leggings. It’s – well, maybe not completely – quite involuntary she opens her legs a bit to accommodate him. Moving her hips against the increasing pressure gives her, feeling herself wet and wanting, flushing at the thought he might soon feel it seep through the thin fabrics of her panties and yoga pants real soon. 

“Ahum,” she hears loudly next to her – not in Rio’s voice. And while she knows it’s dark, she scrambles beneath the blanket. 

Flight attendant bad; is what her mind comes up with as her eyes adjust to the dark as she makes out his form. And really, who says that in words. 

“We’re good,” Rio answers him, much more awake than she anticipated. 

And are they? It’s – ever since she talked this trip over with Annie and Ruby – she’s just all over the place with how they are. Business? Yes, good. Everything else? Look, she doesn’t want to stop and think about it. It’s how it is. One day they’re the worst, one day they’re amazing – but most of the time they’re the whole spectrum of grey in between. 

It’s unfair, really. How Annie and Ruby get to be so judgmental sometimes. Past years Ruby and Stan have known hard times – financially sure, but not in the past four years. Together, they might be even stronger. And Annie, after being introduced to Diane three years ago at one of the Hills’ barbeque things have gone fast – good fast, happy. While separating – truly – from Dean was the best decision for her, there’s been loneliness in losing him, someone, anyone. 

It’s not like she has never met someone – especially the first year after was fun. While she will never lose her ground on how terrible the apps are, it was exciting – still is sometimes. But there’s always something, something that isn’t there. And she knows deep down that Ruby and Annie feel that what she’s looking for isn’t left out to find for her in the battlefield of middle-aged dating, it’s something – someone – she already got, but who keeps slipping away from her. 

“Restroom behind you is out of order, you can use the one in the front,” the attendant tells them, as he defiantly carts his trolley to exactly there. 

Beth cracks, smiling ear to ear. “You need a restroom to join the Mile High Club?”

She feels Rio smile against her skin, before pulling back to look at her. “Damn, ma. You wanna give that guy a heart attack?”

“I’d rather not.”

Even though she’s still worked up, the rest of the two remaining hours of the flight pass quietly. She gets Rio to watch The Proposal with her, appalled that he hasn’t seen it at all – even though she knows he doesn’t really watch movies. At a stake-out, over two years ago, she forced him to watch Scream with her – and it’s grown into a bit of a habit. There’s still the fourth and fifth installment left to go, and they probably won’t get to it anytime soon. But it’s fun, that while he bores her with stupid art facts, she can show him something else entirely. 

Arrival goes smooth. Landing, getting their luggage, everything. No trouble. Rio gets them a taxi, showing the driver the address on his phone. Merci-ing them and what-not, like she doesn’t know he speed coursed a bunch of common French sentences for his own pleasure. And it’s – you know, maybe it’s not – but she likes this. Just, being Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski for a week, so she rests her head on his shoulder as they drive into the city, welcomed by the lights.

~*~*~

It’s all the movie scenes when they arrive at the hotel. Scenic small square with a fountain clattering water from the mouth of a busty lady in a toga. Curled wooden benches lining the flower beds facing said fountain. Droopy trees curtaining the historic buildings along the cobbly road. It’s close to eight, but she feels like it’s much, much later. Not too wrecked by the jetlag but influenced non the less.

“We gotta check in,” Rio says, as if reading her mind. And if that wasn’t enough her tummy growls embarrassingly loud. 

“Sure,” she replies, as he hands her her suitcase. Her eyes drift to a restaurant three feet away. “Are you really sure?” she asks desperately. 

She knows he pretends to be annoyed, but when he’s digging into some fish dish, he looks happier than most times she’s seen his face. Even post – well, not important. After their entree he does take off to check them in with the hotel, and she figures it’s a good time to call Annie. 

“Where are you?” Annie expresses, trying to view the restaurant through their FaceTime. 

Beth shrugs. “Some cosy, overpriced restaurant next to the hotel. Rio’s checking us in.”

“How’s the food?”

“Trés bon,” she replies. Annie eyes her with a look that mostly translates into – what? “It’s good, great. It’s really delicious. We haven’t seen much of the city yet, I kind of dozed off in the taxi. I’ll send you pictures tomorrow!”

“You better. I have very little entertainment aside from looking at Mounty Everest.”

Beth doesn’t even deem that worthy of a response. 

“Besides. Douchy McDoucheface asked me to sit your kids today, so I’m on romcom duty and making sure Danny doesn’t exceeds his curfew tonight. Bless the fuck out of me.” Beth can hear Emma and Jane giggle in the background, hearing the soft repeat of ‘fuck’, and while they don’t say it when she’s around she’s aware that swearwords are actively creeping into her 12- and 13-year-old daughters vocabulary. 

“Sure hope he’s paying you.”

“Two hundred dollars,” Annie laughs. “Extra ten for every ten minutes he’s late post eleven o’clock. I’m going to be a millionaire, my dear sister. Don’t come back!” she adds dramatically. 

It’s only when the violinist starts playing some light music, she’s reminded of what day it is. “Wait, where’s Diane? Don’t you have your own day to celebrate?”

Annie hollers, mouth very clearly filled with crisps. “Valentine’s Day in a strip club? My wifey’s shaking the money tree like there’s no tomorrow. And that’s before she touches a pole. I’m good moving these grossly commercial festivities to another day.”

Rio comes back when main course is served, clearly having changed into something more daytime than his plane-suit. Nothing fancy, just jeans and a fresh shirt. But she can tell even when he hasn’t come into the light of their table. “Everything good?” she asks. 

“Yeah, no trouble. Suite looks _magnifique_ ,” he replies, sliding into the booth again. 

“You’re not impressing me with your French,” she chuckles, as she digs into her steak tartare. 

He looks – offended. 

It only amuses her. 

“It’s good! I’m sorry, _magnifique_ , but I know you downloaded an app last week to learn these things.”

“Mick told you?”

He did not – which makes it even better. 

“I know you,” she drops casually, as she continues to eat. But she can feel his gaze burning a hole into her. 

Rest of dinner is mostly spent with casual talk. Neither of them has decided on the high school problem. He didn’t ask two weeks ago, but she does want Jane to be at another high school than her other kids went to. She can tell it’s not a great fit. And Jane’s more than excited to be looking at places her siblings don’t go to – really. Is kind of tired being someone’s sister, and with the technicolor personality she has, she should be able to be her own person somewhere. 

After dinner they cross the square to the hotel, under the blanket of the warm night. The orange glow from the street lanterns and the muffled music from the restaurant behind her keeping them from being swallowed into the anonymity of the night. It’s not until they pass the lobby, and rode the elevator, Beth registers after at least a bottle of wine that Rio has never handed her a keycard. 

“Honeymoon suite.”

And, what?

Rio slides his card into the lock, and the door opens. Revealing a ravishing room, maybe even a little overdone with the ornaments, but fully answering into her idea of French chic. 

“One room?” she asks, not even sure if it’s fully a question, as she makes her way into the room. 

“One room,” he replies, closing the door. 

And – it’s not the same. Not the same as last time. She had her own room then – there was the decision of not using that room, but there were – options. And she’s trying okay, not to make this weird. But he can – he must understand – that it’s weird. Right? She’s not being unreasonable. She’s not being unhinged. She’s being reasonable with her doubt, being--

“I can sleep on the couch.”

But--

“No.” Before he has a chance to get smug: “I changed my mind.” It’s clear he’s not really sure where this is going. 

He shrugs off his hoodie, but his gaze never leaves her. Expectantly. 

“I don’t mind spending eight hours next to you.” Whatever unspools inside of her, it’s something scary she doesn’t want to deal with. Feels it immediately sink into a box buried deep down before it’s bolted shut, leaving her with just the present. With him.


	2. Joie de Vivre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After starting their day as any normal tourist couple would, things go sideways fast.

It’s not even that late in the morning when she wakes up to the sun falling in through the high windows. And on their respective sides of the bed – she notes, feeling both relieved and disappointed by the absence of his touch. Just two people, sharing a bed. Nothing happened that night before – too tired from the flight and too rosy from their dinner. Both just wanting to crash and get some sleep. 

But she is awake now, and she turns to see if he’s opened his eyes as well. 

“Morning, mama.”

It’s nice though. “Morning,” she croaks. 

This bed. She never wants to leave this bed. Not that she hadn’t had a bit of anxiety leaving it to Rio to plan that part of the trip – where they would be staying and whatnot - but it just was too much to deal with herself. Besides, she’s sure he had someone else do it. A professional of sorts. But as much as she loves the feel of the soft sheets, she has a schedule. She wants to see all the things. 

“What you got planned?” he asks, propping himself up on the pillow. 

“Notre Dame, Sacre-Coeur, Arc de Triomphe. Some other things,” she says, pushing herself up. And, right, she absentmindedly changed into the stupid croissant themed pajamas Annie got her on a whim. It’s not lost on him. 

“Got a beret too?”

“Didn’t bring any.”

“Good.”

“Why? You brought your moustache?” she chuckles. 

He’s stupidly offended by that and excuses himself to go take a shower. Giving her time to gather her schedule for the sight-seeing and checking in with their tour guide. She didn’t really take time to unpack last night, and when she opens the closet she’s met by – well, _everything_. And look, she hasn’t been poor for many years, resolved the debts fully a few years ago. But she can’t say she has ever been met with such exquisite clothes and accessories, in well, ever. 

And she does own nice things now. It’s been an adjustment, but she has learned to spend money on herself, she has. But she feels like she’s in a ridiculously expensive store – something only--

“You like it?” Rio asks, towel wrapped around his waist, as he exits the en suite. 

“I---” she stumbles, fingers caressing the fabrics of the dresses on the hangers. “Yes,” she settles on, firmly. “It’s just. Did you get some daytime clothes?’ she asks, not trying to sound ungrateful. Because she’s not. 

Rio moves into her, the droplets on his chest touching her fabric croissants. He keeps looking at her as he pulls open a drawer. “Got you some jeans too,” he says. And that’s – considerate. 

Her gaze drops down to the drawer. There are some t-shirts as well. Good. And now that she’s not blinded by the dresses, she can see some sneakers lined up too. “Good. Great!” she squeaks, fumbling with the effort and thought he put into assembling this. Also, who is she kidding, he hired someone to do this too. But still. “I’m gonna go.”

He frowns. 

“Shower!” she explains. Poorly. “I’m gonna go shower. My schedule is on the bed, if you wanna see.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just squeezes past him in the closet and into the en suite, where she can finally breathe again.

~*~*~

“I can’t believe you’re blaming me!” Beth laughs, as they find a seat on the square, Notre Dame towering high some feet away. As if conjured out of mid-air, a flock of at least three dozen pigeons hurriedly gather around them – pretending to take no notice of the humans nearby. “You’re acting like I torched the place myself.”

Rio looks at her awfully sceptic. 

“The website said it should have been open for visitors! How was I supposed to know renovations were planned today?” she half-laughs, digging through her purse. She can’t deny it was a bummer, she would have loved to have seen the cathedral on the inside as well, as impressive as the outside may be. 

Rio reaches into the box of grapes she brought before she has a chance to fully open it. 

Her mouth drops open in offence, yet he takes that chance to trace her lips with the moist grape, taking her aback. It’s not she’s new to him being playful – but he seems to ramp up that behavior to the fullest when there’s no one around. When it’s just them. She wets her lips before sliding them over the fruit, meticulously brushing the tips of his fingers when she sucks the grape into her mouth. A dull warmth unleashes sluggish inside her chest, as she sees his pupils getting bigger with anticipation. 

“You want a picture?” an excited voice, with a thick French accent, speaks a little too loud. Scattering the pigeons with lots of squawking noises. 

Rio still appears cool, but she can see him shift. He’s about the dismiss the woman holding a canvas with an easel, box of charcoal pencils in her other hand. But--

Beth stands up and settles herself in Rio’s lap. “Yes, please,” she tells the artist. 

It’s a few seconds back and forth about time and price, but as soon as that’s done she relaxes into him. Feels his arms circle around her waist and pull her closer into him, pressing against her. His lips hover close to hers, and she’s sure if he breaches that last inch: 

“Gonna give me one of those grapes?”

The way he sucks her fingers in when she finally succumbs is frankly obscene. And when she tries to retract her hand, he’s too fast in circling her wrist with his hand, keeping her in place. When he’s done, she’s sure the blush she felt spreading across her chest is not even in the realm of disguising anymore, so she might as well go for the jugular. 

“Still sad we couldn’t see the church?” she asks sugary, settling her hand on his chest. 

Rio’s about to answer when his phone goes off. His deep sigh doesn’t go unnoticed to her – what with his face being so close to her. He eyes her intently as he shows the screen, ‘John C’ blinking rapidly on it before he answers. “Yeah?” he speaks, as he hands Beth an air pod. 

She’s a little late with putting it in her ear and misses the first sentence – but Rio hums thoughtfully, stalling, furrowing his brow. One of his hands curls around her thigh, squeezing it softly. 

“When are you departing?” she hears John ask on the other side of the line. 

“What’s it to you?” Rio counters. It’s an odd question from John, even though it doesn’t sound like that. After agreeing to meet up with Alexander they’d been very clear of not sharing the when and where – they would contact him when they’d made up their minds. 

“Heard there’s a storm coming. I was just checking if you shouldn’t reschedule your flight.”

For a few seconds, Beth hears the sound of something flatlining buzzing in her ears. Smiles faintly at the artist a few feet from them – she must be done any time soon. Rio sucks her back to reality as he grips her thigh a bit harder, drawing her gaze back to him. “One of them tropics I read about in the news?”

John stays silent – a beat too long. “That’s what I thought, but it looks like it’s one coming from up North.”

“Cool. Thanks. Want me to hit up Bonnie?”

“I’ll take care of that.” And they’re hung up. 

It’s the wrong setting – out in the open. She desperately wants to pour every concern out to him, but they will need to be alone. Safe. Secluded. There’s a million thoughts running through her head – are they compromised? Is everything alright at home? She has to make some calls. Frankly, she must be called very soon, if John is solid. 

“Done,” the artist says, and turns the canvas. Beth and Rio both get up. It does look – she would be better equipped to appreciate it if she weren’t so tense. 

“Magnifique,” she circles back to. And while she means it, her mind is occupied otherwise. 

It’s a blur – she recalls Rio paying for the artwork, calling an uber, and arriving back at their hotel. All in all, it cannot have taken more than fifteen minutes. It’s not until their hotel door falls lazily into the lock, the mechanic sound buzzes her back to reality. Rio’s strangely alert, searching the room evidently for bugs, glancing from the window before closing the drapes. 

“He didn’t call me.”

Rio turns his attention to her – lit only by the two nightstand lights’ orange glow. 

“Why didn’t he call me?”

And she certainly did not want to make it sound accusatory – but she can’t help the way the question drops from her lips. It’s fueled by tension and panic, and she crosses her fingers he’s level enough to figure that out for himself. But on the other hand - 

Her phone rings and Rio takes large strides towards her yet halts and waits for her to fumble the phone out of her purse. 

‘Alexander’ blasts sharp from the screen in the darkened room. 

All the anxiety instantly feels dissolved as she picks up – Rio listening quietly next to her. 

“Alexander!” she smiles pleasantly. “Comment ça va?” she voices in broken French. 

“You’ve been practicing! What a joy to hear, Elizabeth. Ça va bien, et toi?”

“Bien as well,” she replies. She can tell Rio’s impatient, but holding it back. It’s just that she can see the fine lines between his brows deepening just the slightest bit, his jaw rocking for that single millisecond she’s seen him do before calculatingly escalating. “Is there something you wanted to speak to me about? I thought we agreed no contact before the seventeenth?”

“Nothing pressing,” Alexander says airy. “I was just wondering if you’d need anything arranged when you get here. I’m well acquainted with any service you might need in the city.” Beth stays silent, not wanting to give him anything to go on. “There’s a variety of restaurants I could recommend,” he continues. “If you’re available I’m hosting an exclusive brunch at the Louvre tomorrow. Or a private party in the evening.”

Beth’s not completely reassured though. “That sounds lovely, you’re very thoughtful, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make that. Keep in touch?” Fortunately, he doesn’t press her for more information, understands that this is the close. 

When she hangs up the anxiety surges right back where it had drained from her five minutes ago. She needs to talk to Rio – like in a way she’s certain no bug will catch on if there are any. Someone send down from Antwerp from one of her and Rio’s trusted distribution lines did a thorough sweep to make sure there wasn’t anything planted. But who knows if anyone else came back while they were fawning over the ceiling of the Sacre Coeur? 

“We should go shower.”

Rio looks surprised at her at first – digesting her suggestion. 

“You were right, it’s like standing under a waterfall,” she forces sweetly. Any visual of bright blue lagoons and tropical décor fast replaced by what she’s actually going for – the heavy thunder of water falling on the tiles, lenses fogging up. 

Understanding flashes across Rio’s eyes. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Both drop their phones on the side table next to the bathroom door, leaving that one open so they could still hear one of them going off while they are inside. When they step into the bathroom Rio instantly turns on the shower, steam spreading fast. 

Okay, so here’s the thing: She can’t recall any situation where they have ever stripped bare, bright daylight falling in through the small milky windows, sober, weighted down by a millstone of emotions. Well – taking into account that one day years ago, not any _after_. 

And there have been some – too many some people she left in Detroit might think, probably some in his hemisphere as well – angry, fun (funny, even), half-dressed, completely smashed, stupid escapades, always after the day was tumbling into the evening, or more often than not well into the night. 

Best just get it over with. 

She swallows hard, meeting Rio’s gaze, who also refrained from undressing yet. But as soon as her fingers graze the hem of her t-shirt, he follows. Aside from the clattering water, all she hears if the ruffling of their clothing, the iron clanking of Rio undoing his belt – until there’s nothing left but them in their underwear. It’s a stupid thought, but on the one hand she does feel a wave of relief, that he’s not wearing a wire – she wants to trust him, she does, but she can never fully be sure she thinks. 

Rio takes a few steps forward, moving into her. His hands fall soft onto her shoulders, toying placidly with the straps of her bra, before sliding them down her arms. As she feels the weight drop at her chest, a nervous flush spreads inside as well. And maybe along her sternum as well, but she’s more than happy to blame the rising heat of the steam for that. 

Beth reaches behind her to undo the clasp, but Rio’s cutting her to the chase. It’s easy then; to drop her arm to her side and let him do it. 

It’s just – all these things stirring inside of her, it’s making her jittery, uncomfortable – not with Rio, but with all of it. And she needs, she _needs_ – before her mind connects it all, she feels her lips searching out his, connecting those dots at the very least. 

There’s no way he isn’t doubtful, she can sense it as he stiffens. 

Her clasp is loose with a quick flip of his fingers, and she tosses it away to push herself into him as she kisses him again. Where she thought that touching like this would be weird and uncomfortable – it’s the exact opposite. She thinks it’s as safe as she’ll ever feel in this situation. In his arms, drowning in the warmth of his mouth. 

In a haze they lose the rest of their clothes, stumbling into the stall and falling quickly against the wet wall of the shower. Before they really do fall in too deep, they both pull away, inhaling each other’s breath as the glass walls clouds up, shielding them from any possible spectators. 

“Is someone watching us?” she asks. 

Rio puts his hand against the shower wall, stroking his chin with the other hand as he towers over her. “Ain’t sure. You tell anyone when we left?”

“Ruby and Annie know specifically, obviously. Dean doesn’t know when and where, but he knows I was going to be out of town. Some of my people might catch on I’m not around for a few days, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. You?”

“Mick, Cisco, Dags,” he recites thoughtfully. “Rhea doesn’t know, she’s in Ohio with Marcus at her mom’s.” Same as her some people might notice his absence, but if they do, they still have no idea where he is. 

“John. He’s –” she feels weirded out to even say it out loud. “There was something going on right?” she sees his face scrunch up, and look she’s not being naïve, but they both know him very well. “He didn’t sound… right.”

“Think he’s on the hook?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s threatened by some other player, maybe he’s in custody. But there’s something not right. And you know I’m right about this!” she hisses, afraid if she raises her voice a potential bug might caught her. 

He doesn’t have to voice it out for him to let her know he agrees. “Mick’s looking into it.”

She’s aware. Even though the drive back to the hotel felt like a blur, her hearing was crisp sharp as she took in Rio checking in with Mick. “Annie’s making sure Dean and his girlfriend didn’t have any weird things happening the past week. Any weird questions.” She doubts it though, ever since Dean found peace with the fact that his name is on the ownership papers of the spa-store (well, three store chain by now) and they’re doing something illegal behind the scenes he hasn’t been shied to report any kind of abnormal order or conversation. Maybe even leaning towards overkill, especially in the beginning. But it never hurts to have Annie check, just to be sure. 

“What if Alexander’s working with the cops?” It’s best to just put it out there, to take John’s warning for truth. 

“What if he ain’t?”

Beth contemplates this. It was odd for him to call before they agreed to have contact. Yet he didn’t actually ask them any concrete questions – nothing about departure, or where they would reside, or anything – he wasn’t that seasoned in the business like they were. And while it took a while for Beth to learn all the crime etiquette, it still seemed a bit naïve of him. At first impression he seemed like he was serious about possibly getting into bed with them, but maybe the weight of it only now started to press and crack the rush into reality. 

“We should go to the Louvre,” she proposes, boldly. 

“We could fly back to Detroit in two hours.”

“We’re not going to do that,” she says, straightening her back against the tiles, her nipples lightly touching his chest. “I think the Kowalski’s are going there.”

His hand moves to her hip, kneading it softly in his grasp. “What they doing tonight?”

“Seeing all the things,” she smiles against his lips. 

After a few minutes they’re rudely interrupted by Rio’s sweep-guy. Quickly throwing on plushy white robes as they invite the man into their room again. Beth just chills on the bed, waiting while Annie texts her about Dean. Nothing weird has come up, like she expected. Even Heather, his girlfriend, who’s an assistant at one of the other spa-stores, had a pretty mellow week. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Clean,” Rio huffs, as the guy packs up his stuff. 

Evening has set, and it’s dark outside already, even if it’s still pretty early. 

“Wanna go out?” she proposes. It could very well be the last evening here, if all goes south. They might as well indulge. 

The look he gives her tells her all she needs to know.

~*~*~

It’s stupid, but they dressed up so over the top, she’s not even sure they haven’t gotten a side eye when they barged into that three-star restaurant they dined at (Rio had it at number three on his list of must-sees, there was really no way around it) and it was truly divine. And while she can’t deny there’s still that nagging feeling tugging inside her that it was ridiculously overpriced, and the wine was great but not even that good, just indulging and being pampered – it was almost worth the price.

It’s close to midnight as they stroll the roads on the way back to the hotel. It’s a bit chilly, but Rio’s got his arm around here, and maybe it’s also the two bottles of wine they drank between their courses, but she’s feeling warm. Warm and cherished. 

Even though Mick checked in with Rio during the meal, with no additional info for now – he couldn’t find John and had no leads on his whereabouts. Which was not assuring obviously in the least, but they had dismissed a few options, excluded a few trusted people in their circles. 

Beth grabs the bottle of champagne from Rio to down a bit more of it as they get close to Trocadéro Square, giving them a full view of the Eiffel Tower. It’s not until they reach it Beth registers a hooded figure coming into their view. 

“Money!” they bark, pulling out a knife from their sleeve. 

Rio does that thing where he laughs with the utmost of ridicule of the situation, and she can see their attacker getting visibly uncomfortable. “Money!” they repeat. “All!”

Before Rio has a chance to recover from his fit, Beth pulls out a pearl handled gun from her purse and points it at the kid in front of them. “Get lost,” she sighs in exasperation, as she pulls the safety back. 

She doubts she even finished her sentence before they kid runs off. 

The second she puts the gun away Rio’s on her. One of his hands grabbing her ass roughly, pulling her into him. His other hand other sliding into her hair, as he leans closer. “Taught you well, huh?” he says raspy. Sexy. Face too close, yet maybe not _too_ close at all. 

“I wanna see,” she says, eyeing the Eiffel Tower. It’s way past midnight, it’s not open to public anymore. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “And then what?”

Beth just raises a cheeky eyebrow in answer to that. And it’s apparently all Rio needs to see to grab her hand and drag her towards the Parisian icon. 

Her suspicions are confirmed when they reach the bottom of the tower and see a small group of people leaving the elevator, dressed up. There’s most certainly a party going on at one of the higher floors. But Rio doesn’t want to take any risks, fearful one of the clerks might instantly note that they’re in fact not guests returning to retrieve a lost purse. 

It’s too easy how Rio manages to force themselves inside of the tower. It’s no certainty that even if they get to one of the upper floors, they’re in the clear – but something about doing something stupid together makes her fearless. And maybe they can get away with it, say they belong to the body of said party, if they get to the top. It’s a deceptively long climb to the first restaurant floor, even if she’s in a pair of the sneakers Rio’s clothing person picked out for her. But maybe also because they’ve been kissing on each of the landing, giving into juvenile excitement. 

Yet all the stairs do take a bit of a toll, and they’re also not twenty anymore – so they end up piling into the elevator anyway. It’s a bit of a puzzle to work out the buttons and levers, but it moans into action, moving them up – and she is silently hoping the music from the restaurant is drowning the grinding of the mechanics. 

But they do, they do reach the peak of the tower. Not wanting anyone to follow, Rio puts a trashcan between the doors, preventing them from closing. When Beth lets her eyes get acquainted with the view, she can only come to the conclusion it’s absolutely astonishing. Detroit is great, but modern looking from a landmark in the city, not this. It’s like looking at rings of trees – and she’s seen a lot of those for biology projects – but it’s like history is staring straight at her, the dark of the night illuminated by the streetlights. And Rio plasters himself against her back, looking at it with her, before his lips drop to her neck.

She’s not even _that_ inebriated, she’s not, but with Rio – when she’s alone with him, it does feels like it. And she wants more, all of it. 

One part of her keeps telling her it’s merely easy with him, but more importantly she feels cherished and safe. So, she turns around in his arms and fully commits herself to kissing him. His lips feeling hers out almost tentatively before they are both deepening it, licking into each other’s mouths. One of his hands drops to her breast, covered by a Givenchy dress, or whatever it is, some ridiculous expensive brand she never heard of. Something dark purple with diamonds around a plunging neckline and a sash pulling it altogether at the waist.

Her own hands drop down to his suit pants, loves how he choose the dark blue for their night out, not blind to how he leaned into her compliments about the color and the cut before he decided to wear it. And for most people it’s not considered a color out of the ordinary, but for him it is. So used to all the blacks, and the grays, and truly anything in that range. 

Rio drops his hands to the back of her thighs, and he hikes her up from the ground, pushes her into a corner as she circles her legs around him. Hard and cold metal of the cage-like structure dig into the fabrics covering her back. While she has no doubt she’s not in any danger here, the fact that he’s holding her up without having any footing herself shoots sparks of excitement through her. 

It’s thoughtful he even drops one of his hands to stroke her through her panties, but she’s already soaking through them. Feels him riling up at touching her center, before he roughly pulls them aside to really get to her. Her folds slick with her longing for him, but he groans into her mouth non the less as he feels his rough fingers sliding through them with ease. How she buckers as his cold ring bumps against het clit every time he fucks into her, making her push her nails into his scalp. 

Before he has a chance to say something witty or stupid, she forces her hand into his pants, past his waistband. Her lips curl into smile, feeling him hard and throbbing for her. Never do those mewls he fervently denies producing when she touches him not make her want him more. “Don’t talk,” she whispers warm against his lips – unsure of where her breath begins and his ends. 

Rio hikes her thigh higher up, as she pushes his pants down a little lower. He takes the cue and lines up with her, sliding into her to the hilt with a single thrust. 

It’s a lot to take in on one go, but she does, even if she’s spasming around him like crazy. Their last encounter was maybe a week ago, but somehow every time feels new, yet comfortably familiar. 

She loves looking at his face as he pushes into her. Sees all those muscles in his face trying to keep that poker face while he obviously can’t. And even though she knows it’s not something he likes, how she sometimes studies him while their doing this – she does. When she thinks he’s too occupied drowning in sensation. 

Fortunately for him the remedy for that is to fuck into her long and deep, as he does. Groaning into her mouth as they kiss sloppily. In the back of her skull there’s a sense of rush building up, and not just from his thumb that’s now rubbing her clit in tandem with his thrusts. The heel of her sneaker is pushing into his ass, asking him wordlessly to speed up. She’s so close. 

And with a final flick of his thumb, she tumbles over the edge, all the dread and worry funneling into a pleasant explosion of alleviation. It’s through her haze she feels his lips drop to the top her breasts, sucking what will nodoubtly a mark she’ll barely be able to cover. She’s still coming back to herself as he fucks into her rapidly, finishing himself only moments later. 

Her fingertips are in the middle of curling around his shoulder, as they regain their breath again. As she can clearly hear through the wind:

“Police. Les mains en l ‘air!”


	3. Faux Pas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all good nights have great endings, but they're new beginnings non the less.

“You were right, y’know?” Beth speaks softly, as she and Rio lay face to face on the narrow bed of the police cell, the thin plastic mattress sticking to her calves. 

His chuckle echoes ugly through the empty bright cell, the fluorescent lights burning low but still too bright for how middle of the night it is. Nothing real bad had happened, they weren’t even searched (but maybe that had something to do with Rio slipping the officer a few orange bills – she’s buzzed, not blind). Just tossed into the drunk tank. Rio immediately latching onto her as soon as their handcuffs were unlocked. 

She can feel his hand moving from under her coat that’s draped over them, feels his calloused tips as he pushes her bangs back. “Never get tired of you saying that.”

Beth’s face scrunches up. “You don’t even know why.”

The fingers that were shortly before touching the shell of her ear drag down to her neck, and she can’t deny the warmth his touch spreads across her skin there. 

“Think I do.”

She gets a bit flustered, drawing her legs up in stupid anticipation. “What?” she laughs under her breath. And look, they never talk about things outside of work, not really. Not even that summer a few years ago when they were, like, ehm, regularly meeting. For things. The obvious things. Look, it’s unimportant. 

“Do you want me to tell you or not?”

His facial expression does cave at that and changes into something more neutral. 

“It is.”

“What is?”

“Lonely,” she says, after many seconds of hesitation. “At the top.”

He takes a too long sigh that tells her all the truths she’ll never get out of him in words. It’s something shifting in his eyes, his lashes fluttering down – not in doubt, no. Her heart sinks as she realizes he’s turning away. And – she can’t believe it. Can still feel him sticky between her thighs, a messy reminder of what she truly believed was fun, at the bare minimum, maybe even--

“Rio,” she hisses, desperately trying to get his attention again. 

But he slides out from under her coat, leaving her on the welted down bed as he walks to the middle of the cell, back turned towards her. She sits up, legs drawn up under her coat – waiting for him to sort everything out. 

“You’re drunk.”

What.

Her throat tightens up and maybe it’s good that he chooses to step away from her – maybe she doesn’t need him to see her eyes burning wetly. Yet when she thinks she might shatter, a wave of animosity washes over her, solidifying the glass cage around her feelings. “That’s how it is?” she speaks, voice strained like a violin string wound to tight. 

Did she really read into this so wrong? 

Her rage settles coldly into her body, feels it dripping into her veins like it broke down to tiny shards of ice. She’s not sure if he feels her eyes burning a hole into the back of his head, but she’d rather freeze in this position than letting him ignore her. It’s not until her attention is drawn to his reflection in the glass doors, she can see him staring at her intently. 

“Are you going to say anything?” she speaks, feeling the string tensing in her throat again. “At all?”

“Yeah, we ain’t doing this right now,” he says, slowly shaking his head as he turns around. 

And _who_ is _he_ to decide that? It makes her veer up from the bed, dropping her coat onto the ground as she takes a few steps into his direction. “You better pay that police officer some more euros then, because as much as you hate me you’re stuck with me here for the next hours!” 

He rocks his jaw between his fingers, and she can’t help but notice – he’s tired. Exasperated maybe. 

“I don’t.”

“What?” she spits back, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Hate you.”

He looks up then – at her. And she can tell now. He’s not tired, nor exasperated. Much to the contrary of her expectations his pupils aren’t dark as coals from a died down fire, there’s an inferno raging inside him he’s obviously having trouble containing. Perhaps unexpectantly but seeing him struggle calms her down – he’s not cross, yet whatever it is that’s swirling inside him is clearly something he’s not willing to let out. And a part of her is terrified that if she presses that tsunami will crush them both. 

So she does the thing she knows – reaches out her hand. “Come lay with me.”

For a millisecond his obvious doubts seem on the verge to snap the string inside her, but for once she’s happy her vulnerability translates trough the dark pink shade of her flushed skin. His warm hand slides inside her small palm, and while the string barely slacks, it has loosened enough tension to get her through the night. 

Beth doesn’t exactly wake – more slides into a less deep kind of sleep. Her head still feels slightly fuzzy, but she feels warm and good – even though she can feel the cold licking at her bare ankles sticking out from underneath her blanketing coat. It’s a slow kickstart, but she can sense her mind firing up; synapses downloading everything that happened last night. 

Yet it’s none of anything of that that really makes her open her eyes, it’s how she clearly hears Rio’s heart ticking in his chest. She’s not sure he’s already awake, but she doesn’t really want him to. And while she can maybe catch a small whiff of his deep cologne, and the aftershave he used last night to trim his beard – it’s the scent of them together that makes her not want to leave how she’s curled up against him. Face buried in his dress shirt, fingers loosely gripping a lapel of his suit jacket. 

When she feels him shift under her, she’s almost afraid to move – committed to stealing as much of this frozen moment until the puzzle pieces of reality fall into place again. 

Even when she hears iron clattering, and the lock of the door open, she refuses to budge. 

“Regardez les tourtereaux,” she hears a young man snicker. Someone else laughs under their voice in response. “Sober?” she hears the same person ask in English. 

Rio sits up, and she reluctantly moves with him. Looking at him sounds worse than facing the officer, so she rolls away from him, and gets to her feet. Wobbly from sleep, but aside from the emotional hangover she feels fine. “We’re good,” she smiles at the officer. 

“Pay the fine, you can go,” he says, handing her a piece of paper. 

Before she has a chance to really look at it Rio comes up from behind her and pulls it from her hands. Like why does he even care – you know if he doesn’t, why should she. He can pay the stupid fine if he insists on finally pushing some kind of galanty. 

“You take cash?” Rio grunts, eyeing fidgety beyond just wanting to get out of here. 

“Machine across the street,” the office says. But halts Rio as he tries to exit the cell. “Passeport. She stays here.”

Rio pats his jacket down, and the pockets of his pants. It’s when he starts to look a bit frantic – and truly he deserves it after last night, but depriving herself from a shower or a bath sounds honestly much more punishing than the former – she opens her purse lightly to slide her hand inside. 

“I have both,” she says, as she hands them to the officer. 

She can live off the annoyed look Rio gives her for the next few hours at least.

When they arrived last night everything had been a bit of a blur – yet she’s pretty confident the outside of the building was pretty old. Nothing of that elegance translates into the bleak blue interior of the main hall. Rio whispers a quick and distant ‘be right back’ into her ear, before slipping out of the doors. 

“Your phones.” Right, they did have to deposit those. Beth takes hers out of the plastic tray and waits ‘til it turns on again. Praying she’s got at least a bit of juice. The clock over the counter marks not even a quarter past six, enough time to get back to the hotel and get into something decent for that brunch. Disappointment washes over her; she really was pretty excited about attending it with him – but she supposes that’s ruined now. 

She scans the room. Her gaze locks on a bulletin board with posters of lost cats and wallets – a few drawings of people, yet she’s not exactly taking anything in because she keeps circling back to how dismissive he was. Even trying to wrap her mind around it gives her a headache. 

“American, huh?” she officer pipes up behind her, tone more friendly than before. 

Time to put on her Pleasant Beth persona, she grimaces as she puts her smile into place. 

“Yes,” she beams, as she’s crumbling inside. “We’re on our honeymoon actually.”

“Maybe sightsee by day next time?” he proposes. “Much cheaper tickets.”

And, okay, she cracks at that. “I bet they are.” 

Rio joins them again, handing the officer a stack of bills. Much to Beth’s satisfaction the officer hands her the passports again, even if Rio’s holding his hand out. 

“No receipt?” he asks. 

“Made a friendly price. Now get out.”

“Merci beaucoup,” Beth tells the officer, as Rio already turns around to stride for the exit. He winks at her as she follows Rio out of the building.

~*~*~

Much to her chagrin Rio’s still refusing her anything beyond a silent treatment, maybe throwing in a grunt or two as his pass is refused by the hotel door before it finally budges. And she doesn’t get it – really doesn’t. _He_ is the one who’s been pressing her – be it barely audible or outright asking – to make any statement about them. And now she finally wants to open that conversation – this is what she gets?

As sluggish as she is entering the room – shrugging off her coat, putting it on the hanger with care, lowering her purse on the bed as she roams through it to find her phone and her charger – he’s immediately fired up. Throwing his suit jacket onto one of the armchairs in their sitting area, the barest insinuation of it wrinkling already tugging at her heart. Briskly striding through the room, pulling open drawers as he’s trying to locate his charger. Her ‘it’s in the wardrobe drawer’ goes lost on him as he pulls out his laptop from his suitcase.

His brows furrow as he drops onto the bed, folding the machine open too hard. As he roughly pushes the buttons she lingers over to where he dropped his suit jacket, taking the garment into her hands with care. It’s a good fabric, soft but firm. Even after spending the night on a cot in a jailcell it barely has any creases. Yet it doesn’t dignify this treatment; being tossed aside like nothing means anything. Like trash. 

“It’s rented, don’t worry about it,” he grumbles, not looking up from the screen. 

It makes her feel sad. Just because he doesn’t commit to something doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve care. 

She opens her mouth to say something, and he tilts a brow in response. “I’m going to take a shower,” she speaks instead, hard. And to amplify she lets the jacket slip from her hands onto the floor, before withdrawing to the en suite. 

Much to her surprise, when she enters the tiled room and turns the lock, it finally feels like she can breathe again. She goes to look at herself in the mirror, expecting to look at someone wrecked, but all she can see is someone hardening up. While she peels off her layers of clothing and tosses them onto the counter next to the sink – maybe tossing away those panties altogether – she can almost see a new shield spanning over her skin. 

It’s just so annoying. What the hell does he want?

One day he’s asking her to please stay with him – and when she finally feels like it’s something she wants to talk about he’s being a dick about it. Like, he never gives her anything, but now he’s got this whole trip arranges and gets her a bunch of things – it’s not him and it’s eating her up. 

It’s still at least two hours before they have to leave the room and she’s trying to make up her mind how she’ll survive that. 

Her eyes drift to the bath in the corner. And look – if he’s being a dick altogether, at least she can counter by hogging up that bathroom and letting him marinate in their night out in result of hopefully his infinite guilt. 

It is not until half an hour later she hears him fiddling with the doorhandle. By then the room has pleasantly filled up with the bath bomb’s aromas and the whatever scent candles she lighted to make herself feel better. 

“Occupied,” she blandly replies. She hopes he regrets getting one room. 

It stays silent a few seconds too long before: “Mick’s got some info.”

And it’s only fair to have him wait just as long. “You know how to pick a lock.”

She doesn’t need to see him to imagine him shaking his head, or rocking his jaw, or – if he’s (unjustifiably) equally annoyed – dipping out his tongue before licking his upper lip. 

At most it takes him twenty seconds to enter the room. Still in his suit pants, partly unbuttoned dark dress shirt, and without his shoes. It’s not like she didn’t expect this, and she’s sure the mountain of bubbles is an enough barrier to make his gaze focus on her actual face. 

“What?” she asks indifferently. 

He’s taking his sweet ass time closing that door and slowly unbuttoning the shirt. Nothing she hasn’t seen before, everything’s fine. 

“Tell me,” she presses, as he obviously finds getting naked more important than informing her. 

The millisecond before she sees his lips curl, she knows she broke too soon. Her hands tighten around the edges of the tub as she takes his reaction in. 

“Alexander texted me too,” she says. 

“What he say?” Rio immediately asks, as he shrugs off his dress shirt. And she likes to tell herself those scars on his upper left body don’t do anything now, but somehow, they still sting. 

“You first.”

His hands fumble a little too long with the clasp of his belt to make it seem he’s being cool, regardless of his more neutral expression. Yet for some reason she’s pretty sure her expression doesn’t falter. At least not by much. 

“John’s alive.”

She keeps looking at him because that truly tells her nothing. 

“Looks roughed up though. Ain’t talking. Got a bunch of security circling around him 24/7.”

“Feds?” she asks, as he gets rid of his pants. 

“Not sure, don’t think so.”

He’s walking towards the bath now, and she is kind of reluctant about that. And in many other cases she would have loved to have him slide behind her, lean against his hard chest. But he has ruined that now. While he doesn’t choose to go shower, he fast gets rid of his boxers and takes a seat in the bath opposite of her. Hissing as he gets adjusted to the hot – and that’s subjective, he’s a real baby about the temperature – water. 

“Alexander is expecting me to arrive alone.”

“Is he now?” Rio asks, as she feels his long legs stretching out to touch hers under the water. His hairs rough against her soft skin. 

“Didn’t ask me if I was bringing someone to the party.”

Rio just shrugs at that. 

“He knows we should be coming together.”

“Maybe he’s hoping for some alone time, mami.”

It’s not even something she now considers in the realm of funny, and she’s pretty sure her passive features show exactly that. 

“Why no feds?” she shoots back. 

“You trying to romance me?” he asks, eyeing the lit candles. 

“You often have to pick a lock to woo a woman?”

Even that bare hint of irritation shooting across his face gives her a buttload of satisfaction.

Still, even if he tries to ignore whatever happened last night, she still doesn’t understand why he’s beating around the bush so much. Not about things they’ve been good about. For years even! Sharing business intel, keeping each other away from the fires, lifting each other up – helping each other out. He’s being a ridiculous amount of difficult. 

“I ain’t sure.”

“Okay.”

“Alexander ain’t the oblivious fool John told us.”

It’s not a thought she hasn’t entertained after the initial offer. Was pretty surprised he’d be okay with John’s – even from a criminal perspective – insanely unfair deal. But she had some of her people look into it, and on paper there wasn’t anything weird. Nothing even close to that, really. Rio’s people had obviously come to the same conclusion otherwise they wouldn’t be here. 

“He thinks I’m the weak link,” Beth replies, with the utmost reluctance. Why else would he have John cancel on Rio? On paper Rio is definitely the one more seasoned to the business – and if she had been looking from the outside in that would probably been her own conclusion, as much as she hates to admit it. 

Rio grabs her by her knees at that, making her hitch her breath. 

She’s not going down that easy. “Doesn’t he?” she asks, as she tightens her grip on the tub again as he tugs at her. 

That disenchantment drooping down his face is really all she needs to know. But she wants to hear him voice it. Not exactly _agree_ , but recognize in the very least. 

“You the newbie.”

“We’ve been doing this for years.”

She knows, okay. Knows by now Rio kept her in the dark for a long while, not just from her viewpoint, but also been shielding her from these kinds of outsiders. Knows he never felt comfortable about her being a player on her own, but this is where they are. 

“So, John took a beating for us? That what you’re saying?”

“I trust him.”

And she does too, she really does. But the fact that he refrained from contacting her only reinforces that she’s being duped the lamb brought down to Europe for slaughter. Maybe not now exactly, but down the line at least. 

Before she has a chance to reply Rio reaches down to the pants on the floor next to the tub, digging out something – something boxy and velvety and she has gone down this road before. There was this whole marriage thing she was caught up in for years. She knows that kind of box. 

“Got you something,” he flippantly says, as he opens the box – no, presents it to her: a white gold band with a milky pear-shaped diamond locked in between. It’s really beautiful, and – the depths of her scream – what she would have loved to have gotten, unlike that preposterous ring she got from Dean when he pushed his heirloom onto her finger when they were a little more than kids. 

Her laugh carries through all the echoing tiled room. 

“That’s – what?” she manages to produce. 

He’s annoyed at best, maybe even a tinge of embarrassed. She can’t tell.

“A ring.”

“Got your people to get that for your fake wife?”

If there’s a level beyond annoyed, she’s pretty sure that’s where he’s at. “ _I_ got it.”

She knows her silence tells him more than words but still – it’s a bit much? She doesn’t have a problem with dressing up their lie, but he could have just put it along with the other jewelry in their closet. Could have casually mentioned getting it as they got ready to go out. 

“That’s thoughtful,” she replies. 

He reaches out to take her hand from where it’s clinging on the ridge, this time she doesn’t make a fuss as he draws her a little more towards him. The cold metal of the band touching her hot skin makes her shiver, flush maybe – but she has confidence that’s veiled with it also pinkening at the hot water surrounding them. And, god, why does it even feel loaded? It shouldn’t be, she was a fool to think that maybe this time it wasn’t just business. 

“It’s your birthday, ain’t it?” he smirks. 

She doesn’t feel like a birthday girl though.

~*~*~

“Kowalski,” she tells the woman at the door. Before checking her tablet, she lets her eyes travel Beth’s deep blue cherry blossom wrap dress. Alexander didn’t really send her anything about a dress code, and she feels sufficiently classy and business in it. But from the look the woman gives her it might be a bit underwhelming for the occasion. It’s whatever, she’s not going lot let a twenty-something’s overplucked brows fail her confidence.

“Ah, I see,” she replies, as she scrolls down. “I had you on ‘maybe’.”

“No need,” Beth smiles back with pursed lips. “I’m here.”

Access granted, she enters the vast glass pyramid in the center of the ancient square. It’s so much bigger than she had anticipated from looking at pictures, and she feels the weight of it as she descents the swirling stairs that lead her to the lobby. It’s apparent the other entrances were open to visitors, looking at the people she can see lingering. Yet she doesn’t get a lot of time to take it all in, because after a mere minute or so a steward steps in to guide her to wherever she needs to be. 

It’s a few turns and steps before she arrives in a long-stretched gallery lined with absolutely massive paintings. Her heels click a little too loud through the empty hall as she makes her way towards the low sounds of light music in the back. Paintings portraying colorful scenes of bourgeoisies entertaining themselves with wine and viands, seemingly careless, yet marked by harsh lines in their faces and pits where their eyes should shine. 

“Elizabeth?”

Caught up in a particular painting of two lovers picnicking in their stranded boat on shore, she didn’t realize she had stopped moving. 

“Alexander,” she smiles brightly, turning on her heals. 

_”Don’t fuck this up, Elizabeth, _” Rio speaks lowly into the earpiece she’s wearing, leaving the static going for a tad too long that all she can translate that to is a dot-dot-dot. It’s easy to interpretate it as threatening, but she knows he’s uncomfortable sending her out on her own.__

__It’s almost background noise as she hears Alexander say something along the lines of how her trip went._ _

__All that’s circulating through her head is how much of a terrible idea this is, regardless of how much she near bullied Rio into agreeing to it. But then, after much staggering, he gave in. Said he had faith in her, which made her feel like last night was close to forgotten._ _

__“I’m good,” she replies, more to Rio than anyone else._ _

__Maybe a little to herself as well._ _


	4. Ne Me Quitte Pas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about that summer two and a half years ago...

Two and a half years ago 

_Do you know any good tattoo shops?_

_getting that teardrop down finally?_

_Fine I’ll ask Annie

nah  
hers are shit  
you got time tonight?

_

Beth feels a trickle of doubt, again, when she reads that offer. It has been going through her mind for a while: finally getting that poorly done Chinese symbol removed from her hip. But now that the divorce is true and fully done, and she’s settled into her new house – the house she bought herself with her own money (and left with her own part of the debt from the sale of the previous one, unfortunately), it just feels right to get rid of all the things that remind her of her previous life. Even if she got that tattoo on a whim with a friend, Dean not even being in the same state.

_they do full sleeves too_

And, god, how did they manage to get back to this?

_I want to get something lasered_

She sees him type, and stop, and type again, and stop again. He goes offline for a few seconds and comes back again.

_cool  
so you down or what?_

And she’s _down_ , okay. She just didn’t expect him to be so fast in his response. An address would have been perfectly fine.

_pick u up in an hour_

And what? No! This is _her_ thing, she wasn’t even going to bring Ruby or Annie. Besides, it’s just a small tattoo, she’s sure driving will be fine.

_hurts like hell  
don’t think you can drive mama_

It’s not a question, it’s a – well, an order? A very rude suggestion at least, which essentially from him is exactly the same. And why does he even want to come? Even if they’ve been on good grounds for the better part this year, the extent of their friendship hasn’t breached the occasional take-out dinner at a drop (even if there might have been doing a bit of lingering, a drink or two sometimes). 

Regardless, an hour later she’s waiting for him on her new driveway in her leggings and a sweaterdress. It’s been almost twenty-five years, but she distinctively remembers the past tattoo artist (and really, that title might be overdoing it given the result) telling her to not wear anything that might be pressing down into the ink for a few days. 

Annoyingly, he arrives exactly on time. In that dumb big car too, like it’s screaming ‘compensation car’ (even though she very distinctively knows it’s not). She drops her heavy handbag onto the car floor before climbing in herself and dropping into the – she has to give him that – very comfortable leather seat. 

“You could have just sent me one of those pinpoint thingy’s, you know?" she says lightheartedly, as she buckles up. 

He takes her in a little too long for comfort. “What?” she asks, giggles bubbling up in her chest. 

“Figured you want me to tag along,” he smirks, licking his lips. 

And look, she could have done the Yelp-thing. Maybe she could have asked Annie – but honestly, she has to agree that the bulk of her tattoos aren’t exactly – well, great. And some of them were done by that weird guy she dated that she wouldn’t be surprised still plays in that indie folk band, and still brews that nasty moonshine in his broken-down washing machine. 

“You wanna say goodbye to my tattoo?” she asks, as he pulls off. 

“Nah,” he says, settling down in his chair, hand easily gliding along the steering wheel. “It’s just a consult. Couldn’t squeeze you in on that short of a notice.”

And – sure. She doesn’t want to be disappointed, but now that she has made her decision about it, she kind of wants to get it over with. 

“Know you have that scar touching it, better have it checked out by a pro,” he answers indifferently, staring at the road ahead. 

Maybe this was a bad idea after all. While two bourbons in it sounded great to ask the person she knows who has a bunch of tattoos about this little problem, it also throws her right back into her bedroom – back to. Well. His pleasantly surprised face looking up as he had dragged his hot, wet mouth down her sternum all the way to her hip. Still feels him mouthing and humming against her inked skin like it was yesterday. 

She squirms uncomfortably in her seat, before finding a more relaxed attitude. “Okay.”

It’s a surprising short ride, maybe a little over ten minutes? Somehow, she kind of expected his suggestion to be more inner city, but apparently it is some dingey place behind a gas station, and she can say with confidence that she hadn’t dared to set foot in it if Rio hadn’t drove her there himself. 

“How do you know this?” she asks as he parks. 

And she really didn’t mean to say that unsympathetically, but by the too hard slam of his car door closing she’s now thinking he might think so. And if that wasn’t response enough, he leaves her to climb out of her seat herself, while he already strides for the entrance. 

“I mean,” she says, catching up to him. “You can’t exactly see it from the road.”

He whips his head around. “Yeah, shops were all out of giant inflatable gorillas.”

And, she can’t believe he even remembers. Hell, _she_ almost forgot. “Did you just...?” she starts, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Joke?”

His smile is broad and toothless, yet he doesn’t break. “C’mon.”

On the inside it’s everything the outside is not: clean counters and shiny floors, framed artwork lining the walls a little haphazard, fresh flowers and plants – it’s the fact that she knows it’s a tattoo parlor and not a spa waiting room – because it could have easily fooled her at first glance. Yet when she looks over the counter there’s a clear backroom with two of those chairs visible, equipment lined up neatly. 

“Yo, Chris,” she hears from behind her, as an Asian woman with colorful dreads piled on her head opens the door. “What you make me break my Real Housewives marathon streak for? Does my free time mean nothing to you?’ she asks quasi-sad, before smiling widely, showing two golden front teeth. 

Their hug that follows is warm and friendly, and Beth doesn’t really know what to make of it, really. 

“Brought you a real housewife,” Rio says, as he steps back. 

Beth smacks his chest with the back of her hand. “Don’t introduce me like that,” she frowns, offended. On the other hand, she doesn’t think she has ever met this woman. Maybe the ambiguity is better. Maybe--

“Yeah, your girl! Elizabeth, right?” she – Rhonda, she introduces herself – says chipper. “Bullet couldn’t shut up about you last time. You got some killer baking skills,” she continues, as she leads the way to the backroom. 

And – okay, she asked some of Rio’s guys to help with her move a few months ago – but she didn’t really expect her lunch to carry word into whatever part of town this is. When she looks at Rio he merely shrugs noncommittedly. “I used small marshmallows as an extra filling for the brownies. They really went for it,” she replies. 

“Don’t have to tell me that,” she says, dropping onto the stool next to the chair. “He’s been messing up mom’s kitchen ever since trying to recreate them. I’ll take the recipe as payment for my generously late consult, maybe I’ll finally be the favorite child.” There’s a grim lining attached to that, but Beth can see it quickly fade as she meets Rhonda’s expecting, sparkling eyes. 

“Take off your pants,” Rhonda says, waving her hand towards the chair. 

And, right. 

Rio’s still hovering in the foyer, checking out the art on the walls, hands clasped behind his back. But it’s not like he can’t _see_ her if he wants. 

Whatever. Her sweater is just long enough. 

And if not; also whatever. Nothing he hasn’t seen before. 

Yet she flushes a little when she strips her leggings off, keeps searching for his eyes probably a little less stealthy than she thinks judging by Rhonda’s sly smile. Beth decides that’s her cue to slide into the chair, pulling her sweater down a little more as it creeps up her thighs. 

“No time to be coy, sugar,” Rhonda smiles, turning on a blinding light and shining it right into Beth’s face – making her see spots for a few seconds before she hears a muttered ‘sorry’ and the light is turned downwards. 

When she opens her eyes again Rio has comfortably settled in a chair right in front of her, smuggest look she can ever recall him having on his face. “Yeah, baby. _Rhonda_ ’s seen it all anyway.” If anything, it only enforces her to make him pay for his utmost annoying attitude. 

“Sure,” she breathes. Her fingers curl around the edge of her sweater and she draws it up oh so slow, never breaking her gaze with Rio’s. Sees him fight against looking down, but when the bright purple fabric of her panties comes into sight, he tears his eyes away to take in the curve of her creamy hips. Licks his lips as Rhonda indifferently drags the rim of Beth’s panties down a little to reveal the Chinese symbol. 

And was it so hot before? She wonders as she clenches her thighs. 

“How long you’ve had it?”

“Twenty,” Beth starts, caught up for a few seconds as she sees Rio visibly flex in his seat. “Twenty-three years. Some real Spring Break quality,” she jokes nervously, as Rhonda traces it with her latex gloved hand. 

Rhonda shoves her sweater up a little, showing some more skin. 

“C-section?” she asks, as she traces the tip of the scar right into the heart of the Chinese symbol. 

Beth nods. 

It takes Rhonda a few more minutes to study her tattoo, but then she starts pulling her glove off. “Look, you have fair skin. The tattoo isn’t done that well, but it’s a one and done, should be easy to remove in any other case. It would be like four to six treatments over at least half a year.”

She doesn’t really like the long timespan of that. Really, she just wants to do it right now, and if not, on a very short basis before she changes her mind again. 

“But your scar’s making it difficult. Not impossible, but lasering could very well leave additional scars and you might end up with a whole, like, yarn ball of scars on your hip – and if you ask me, not necessarily prettier than what you have now.”

Beth’s still processing this as Rio pitches in: “Cover-up?”

And. What? She hadn’t even considered--

“I’d recommend that,” Rhonda nods. “I mean, if you want to. Fortunately for you, what you have now looks all bled out into your skin, but it’s an easy enough fix.”

Beth’s fingers travel down to the too soft tissue slicing one part of the tattoo. “H-how about the scar?” 

“It’ll sting more than the rest of the skin, maybe the tattoo could bleed a little in the rest of the scar tissue. I’ll need you to come back for a longer consult so I can really look at the tissue,” Beth grimaces, this really isn’t what she wanted to hear. “Don’t worry, I’ve tattooed a lot of scar tissue – especially mastectomy, but a fair share of c-sections too. I’ll give you my Instagram, you can check it out.”

Rhonda leaves to go check her schedule for the next few weeks. 

It’s only then when it dawns on her. “You knew, didn’t you?” she asks, making Rio look up from his phone. “That she couldn’t laser it.”

“Had a hunch,” he says, pushing himself out of the chair. He picks up her leggings from where they’re folded at her feet. 

Before she has a chance to voice her obvious objections, he takes a hold of her ankle, and slides the fabric of her leggings over them. 

She swallows hard, warmth pooling low in her belly. “Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asks, much softer than she initially intended. 

Rio shrugs, making a slow damn show of sliding the other bunched up leg over her foot, equal to its counterpart. “You’d take my word for it?”

And. 

Okay. 

“Didn’t think so,” he notes, as her eyebrows pinch pensively together. 

It doesn’t stop him in any way from pulling her leggings up, and up, _and up_ – until he’s hoovering too close above her. “Lift up,” he breathes, his breath warm against her lips. She nods a little too eager perhaps and does as he says. The way his large hands slide her leggings over her ass and settle around her waist is honestly criminal – too close again, and his face is still just only an inch away maybe, it would be so easy to--

“Don’t do that on my chair, I have health codes.”

Unlike Beth expects, when Rio pulls away, she doesn’t feel anything fall apart. 

Her appointment is made fairly quick – next week, she puts it in her phone. Can’t exactly trust herself to remember from the top of her mind – with him still lingering about, crowding her every fiber. Even when they’re outside the early evening air doesn’t give her a lot of room to breathe. If possible, the humid air only makes her feel more tingly than when he still had his hands on her. 

It’s when she looks at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, she meets a mirror of her gaze. 

“So, what do you wanna do?” Rio asks, smugly innocent. 

His apartment feels a million hours away even if he’s pushing some extra miles across the speed limit, and he possibly ran a red light – but she’s too busy staring at his face while she’s got her hand between her legs. Out of the corner of her eyes she can see his knuckles whiten as his hands clench around the steering wheel every time she keens. 

When her breathing increases as she nears her peak, he sways the car a little, puts it into park too harsh, making her lose her rhythm. He doesn’t give her any time to get back to it as he quickly unbuckles himself, climbs over the console and gets down on his knees between her legs. It’s a fraction of a second where he looks at her and she gives the briefest of nods, but he immediately reaches to the waistband of her leggings – and panties – and pulls the whole tangle of fabrics down in one rough motion. 

He bends down but unlike she expects he doesn’t immediately dive between her legs, but softly kisses the tattoo – it _is_ like he’s saying a last goodbye to it and it flushes her with a feeling of intimacy she instantly wants to get rid of. He tenses against her like he channels the same feeling – like he didn’t want to make it loaded in the first place, yet he’s already done it. 

Now, they could stop this whole thing altogether or – “Oh my God,” she nearly shouts as he licks a long streak along her wet folds. Her back arches, but her movements are uncomfortably stopped by the seatbelt she’s still trapped in. In reflex, she tries to find footing on the ground, but he throws one leg over his shoulder, throwing her off balance. 

His scruff scratches against her legs, and she already knows she’ll be seeing and feeling that for the next few days. Something mortifying trickles down her spine by the thought of Rhonda possibly getting an eyeful of that – but all those worries evaporate into thin air when he sucks roughly on her clit, returning all the pleasant swirls she felt roaming underneath her skin before he pulled over the car. 

If the steady pace he keeps sucking and licking her wasn’t enough, the way her body trashes as he sinks two fingers inside her in one go – and he hums pleased against her sticky skin – he curls them inside her against that place she can’t ever reach by her lonesome – it’s too much to even try to restrain herself and her release crashes through her. Vocalized by a string of high pitched mewls and rumbling groans. 

As she regains her breath, he climbs over her, still stroking her inside revoking a pleasant few aftershocks she more than welcomes. 

There’s not even a pinch of a doubt in her mind as she circles a hand around his neck to pull his face to hers, but he halts, a hairbreadth away from her. Tomorrow she will recall all the doubts she knows are wordlessly forming in the back of her mind, like he nodoubtly is doing himself at this exact moment. But before anything coherent forms inside her, he falls into her, lips moving over hers like she remembers – like she missed.

~*~*~

When she wakes up in the morning, body pleasantly sore, all the doubts she repressed all night flood back in with a vengeance. Didn’t allow them when he pressed her against the front door of his apartment, tossing her sweater to the side and latching onto the top of her breasts. Pushes them away as she made him fall back onto the bed and crawled between his legs, giving him similar torturous pleasure as he did with her in the car. Makes excuses to herself as he drags her up by her hair and pulls her into his lap, as his hard on rubbed against her ruined wet panties.

But now that he’s curled around her naked, breath steady and sleepy against her neck – the reality of what happened starts appearing to her from behind the fog. 

She fucked Rio. Again. 

To distract herself from obvious bad life choices she reaches for her phone that’s laying face down upon his nightstand. Her face softens at the sight of the dark wood – the modern design is not even in the range of her taste, but she gave them as a housewarming gift. Scoured the internet for weeks to find them. She’s glad he kept them – likes them, she concludes. 

Nothing notable happened in phone world, she thinks as she silently scrolls through her messages. A work thing, a girls thing, Dean panicking about Emma’s stuffed animal being lost, but messaging her five minutes later that everything’s fine and Spot is found safe and sound. And – right – she thinks as she opens her conversation with Gym Dave, that’s the thing she forgot. 

“Whose Gym Dave?” Rio asks drowsily against her ear. 

“No one,” she answers, scrolling through ‘where are you?’, ‘are you late?’, ‘did something happen?’, ‘call me’, and a much later ‘fuck you bitch’. 

She turns around in Rio’s grasp, and he pulls her in even more when she turns far enough to face him. “Know a few gyms too.”

Maybe those doubts can wait a little longer.

~*~*~

Only the first two, maybe three weeks after that night they keep creeping up – it’s not that easy to see each other. With the business going on always, and her kids residing with her the better part of those weeks, and it’s not like they both don’t have other social obligations, but they still manage to continue whatever hasty and fleeting thing it is between. And she still hasn’t figured out if it’s good or bad that regardless of all the downsides she knows stick to this arrangement, she feels really good about it.

It’s not until Dean takes the kids on vacation for almost three weeks, she truly feels like she can relax into Rio. Without the chores and care of her children that constantly orbit around her, she feels lighter when she goes to see him – but more needed and wanted none the less. And maybe it shouldn’t be a secret – she hasn’t said anything to Ruby and Annie – but it feels right that when they’re together it is in their own little bubble. 

Surprisingly, Rio likes to hear about who she’s been with the past year – likes it even better when he can outdo them. Like that time he fucked her in an empty locker room, like Gym Dave once did – in the same gym even – whispering sweets and dirties into her ear. And regardless of how hot and fun the initial encounter was, the fact that it’s Rio makes it even better. 

There’s something about the fact that nobody knows about it that makes it something okay – that they don’t have this extensive history of blood and violence and manipulation. She doesn’t bring any of it up, even when the scars on his chest are right up in face, and he doesn’t either. Neither of them breaks this silent agreement, yet their perfect bubble gets burst on a night near the end of the last week her kids are gone.

~*~*~

If there’s any sound around them, it’s drowned by the pleasant drums inside her head. There’s a distinctive memory of herself putting a tacky song on and stripping her clothes off as Rio settles back against the couch, taking her in as she giggles and stumbles through her bourbon-clouded haze. Her summer dress fast discarded, and she swings that piece of cloth right into some of his stupid vases, making at least one of them shatter onto the ground.

With the knowledge about him caring too much about the stupid artsy things inside his house and office she doesn’t waste a second pulling off her bra, making him choke on his objections. He laughs, inebriated as well, and grabs one of the stacks of money with a green band around them – pulling the plastic bands to shreds as he woo-hoo’s and throws the stack in the air, making it rain around her. 

It’s dumb and stupid and she loves it. 

He’s already just in his boxers, but she moves fast towards him and drops down into his lap maybe a little too ineloquent but aside from a little shifting underneath her he shows nothing of care about that. With the speed he latches onto her nipple she can only come to the conclusion that he’s happy to have her in his arms. 

“We can do more than just fake diploma’s,” she breathes, as he hums pleasantly around her nipple. “Maybe other certificates,” she lowly moans, as he switches to her other breast, biting that bud lightly and making her shriek. A few bills still stick to her sweaty body, and the thought that it’s just that – true cash for product – makes the excitement inside her bubble up even more. 

She’d been working on this for a while – finding the exact right kind of paper suppliers to deliver them the weight, texture and all the rest that those distinctive diploma’s need to be. It took a while to get the ink down too, but that was something they can do in-house now. But the paper – it had been a journey. 

All thoughts disappear as he touches her over her panties – she doesn’t want to brag about being considerate, but she wore the exact same pair from the first time – the one she found pushed back in the drawer of the nightstand on his side. It’s not until he feels how the fabric is hard from how she seeped through it the first time he looks up at her with a scandalous horny look. 

“Left my pearls though,” she smiles against his lips. “Felt kind of obvious.”

It’s a frenzy to push his underwear down after that, and she’s not completely sure if he breathes something into her ear like ‘wear them next time’, but it could very well be so. It’s all the completeness she feels when she sinks down onto him, grappling her hands around his shoulders as he fully buries himself inside of her. 

The low and throaty sounds coming from him fire her up even more, and she moves vigorously, determined to draw more of those beautiful sounds from him. Her skin feels damp and moist, and the clammy weather that’s unfightable to the air-conditioning inside doesn’t exactly help. But she wants to melt into him, and maybe feeling her slide onto him, over him, makes it all the better. The hairs in her neck are already wet and sticky, and there might still be a bill of money or two glued between them. 

They’ve built this. She and hers, and him and his – she won’t forget any of that. But as his lips find hers again, she feels ingulfed by his warmth, and she tastes him salty and sweet as he licks into her mouth – there is a part distinctively clear to her all of a sudden that’s just about them. 

It starts to spread and manifest in a warm pang across her chest.

“What. The actual. Fuck.”

It takes a few seconds for Beth to register what’s going on – figures at first it’s one of those doubt monsters in her mind finally speaking up – but then she opens her eyes and sees her actual sister standing three feet away in the middle of Rio’s office. Rio’s a little late to catch on as well, and she has to physically turn his head with her hand to make him realize they are not as alone as they thought they were. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Beth’s not sure if she shrieks as high pitched as she recalls later, but it definitely feels like it. 

“What am _I_ doing here?” Annie replies ridiculously angry – and, what’s that? Worried? Hurt? Ridiculous whatever way. 

There’s some solace in how Rio pulls her against him – shielding her from view, regardless of how many times Annie has seen her naked for as long as she can remember. But no bubble remains unscathed as Annie’s face hardens and she walks towards one of the desks to grab a brown paper wrapped package. 

It’s an ink-component one of Rio’s contacts delivered earlier – but _Cisco_ wasn’t supposed to come pick that up until many hours later. 

“That’s what I’m doing here,” Annie says, cradling the package against her chest. 

It’s painful to see how her sister crawls into her too large, bleached jean jacket, like she’s a turtle looking for shelter. And Beth doesn’t understand, Annie could just leave – leave this to be a conversation they can have in the morning. But she refuses to go. 

“Rio and I,” Beth starts, feeling him tense against her – inside her. And the bravado with which she started that sentence dies inside of her. And, she can’t okay, can’t sort out what she wants to say about them – or even worse – what they are? It’s only a fleeting glance, but she can see the question marks stroboscopic inside the depths of his eyes. 

“Please go,” she tells Annie – but she likes to think it’s more pleading than an order. But from the look in her eyes, it probably came out more as the latter. It’s enough to make her leave though. The door apparently falls unpleasantly soft into place because Rio has those mechanics, so the hard thud she hears can’t be anything else than Annie thumping her fist against the wall for the dramatics she was looking for. 

Static silence falls between them and she feels a hundred times more sober and cold when she finally has the courage to look him in the eye again. 

Unhelpfully he has still got his arms wrapped around her, and it’s not like she’s pulling back either. Why can’t things just stay how they are? Why do they have to be real? Nothing was wrong when it was just them. Business was thriving. She even set up a whole new branch. Something they can build on and expand - 

And even while she tries to rationalize everything, the only thing expanding is her heart. 

“Rio and I, what?” Rio asks, stroking wet streaks of hair behind her ear. 

The drums from earlier that were fun and easy and pleasant now beat in a trampling tempo, falling over each other to reach whatever finish line they might be heading to – if only Beth knew what it was. 

And maybe – maybe she doesn’t know, okay. As she feels her eyes tear up she looks away, silently clenching onto his shoulders a little longer. It’s really the only honesty she can give him, and what she does feel certain about is that she doesn’t want to shy away from that. “I don’t know.”

His face turns in some kind of disappointment she thinks. Sees him rock his jaw, and he lets go of one of her hips to stroke his chin and she can just see him fade away in front of her like nothing ever was a thing. 

“Wait,” she says, drawing his attention back to her. “I’m not – this is something. I – do you know?”

He seems to light up again at ‘something’ at least. But it’s not like he gives her anything else. 

“Something,” he says, chuckles a bit even, feels his body rumble in from what she can distillate might be disgruntlement at best. 

She can feel her body slump. Her physical reaction ahead before her mind can wrap itself around anything. Let’s herself be pushed off, and finds a bit of footing, be a little unstable, as she refuses to look away from him. Again. He cannot do this to her, not after – after everything. Can’t he see that she risks so much even giving into that temptation like she did. Again. 

He stands up as well, towering over her, even if she’s still in heels. Draws up his boxers, stained with wet patches from both of them. Feels him realize the same thing as a bucket of emotions is poured over his head and drowns whatever he was feeling beforehand. 

Her hand reaches for him but he catches her by the wrist a few inches before she has a chance to touch him. And – it hurts – more than she thought. 

“Yes, something,” she tries to press. Because it means a lot that she says that. 

Maybe it means nothing, maybe it was just fun and nothing else. As those feelings seep into her skin, she starts feeling ridiculous, what was she even thinking? He has tried to kill her, and the other way around, how could any of this have ever been anything more than two people giving into some sort of physical attraction. Sure, they work well – great even, she thinks as she sees the piles of stacked bills on the couch and on the coffee table – but she obviously read too much into this. 

“Yeah,” he says, letting go of her wrist that falls defeated next to her. 

He walks away then, retreats to the shower. There’s something prickling inside her that tells her to follow him – but she can’t for the life of her find the courage to do so. With her wounds ripped open, and her heart on display she gathers her clothes and her cut. Builds her walls up with every stack she piles into her bag. 

When she’s done doing all her things the shower is still running, and she has no faith left that he has any intention of coming out before she leaves. 

So she does. Even if the strings of her heart violently try to tug her back like elastics, even later when she’s laying in her own bed fresh and showered and under covers that still smell like the both of them from the day before, all she wants to do is crawl back into him and never leave again.

~*~*~

It takes a few weeks before he shows himself again. Or asks her to come to that bar again – the one she knows he owns. Even before they had fallen back into bed it wasn’t a place they frequented, but now he wants her to come – and after a string of meeting his boys, and being cross fired by Annie and Ruby, and overall just unfinished business – all she wants is to just talk to him.

She’s not really sure how to act. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t dressed up a bit at least. Okay, maybe she put in a lot more effort. If only to fuel the sliver of confidence in herself she has left. 

It’s disappointing how detached he seems, she maybe expected – hoped, even? – that that ‘something’ had finally found some purchase inside him. But he – it’s a whole flashback as she slides next to him in the booth. It’s a familiar golden key he pulls out and slides towards her. 

“Time for your own kingdom.”

Unreadable.

“I don’t understand.”

He is – again – agitated! She wants to keep her cool, she does – and it takes her a few deep breaths to calm down and not throw her pent-up annoyance in his face for all the bar to hear.

“We’ll keep the funny money rolling. My boys will deliver a part of the bills, I’ll wash the extra product outside of the spa’s. Call on me when you need some extra hands.”

It’s going nowhere she would like to see this go. And she feels by now she has asked him too many times already about any situation has an ‘us’ in it. It’s been too many nights crying herself to sleep in the meantime, too many times he didn’t text back, too many – look she tried, she really did. And if a fucking golden key is all he’s willing to give... 

She swipes up the key into her hand, still feels it warm from when he was holding it. And she knows she’ll have to accept that it’s the last time she’ll feel any of that before she’ll deem it a memory lost. 

“Next drop’s Wednesday at six. Don’t make Mick be late.”

And while she feels her heart scatter on the floor as she walks away, she doesn’t feel like he gives a single bit about it. And probably never will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I promise, it'll get better!

**Author's Note:**

> Merci for reading! I've written the whole fic, but because I need to edit the whole thing, I'll post a new chapter every week. <3


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